


keep holding me this way

by popthieves



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Sexual Content, i'm shit at this, light choking?, mentions of bondage, mentions of spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popthieves/pseuds/popthieves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry remembers what he wrote Stockholm Syndrome about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep holding me this way

**Author's Note:**

> YOO this is so bad and i haven't proofread it much, but enjoy  
> title from one direciton's 'stockholm syndrome' because i'm unoriginal bitch
> 
> follow me on tumblr: ionlylikezayn :)

It only happened once, is the thing.

-

They can't get out of the hotel because there are fans literally everywhere. No — they can't even get out of the floor where their rooms are booked since they aren't sure if the pool or the cafe downstairs are even safe to be in. Liam's on the edge of his sanity, desperate to get out to take a walk or go shopping, any-fucking-thing that doesn't require him to sit around until he can't feel his arse, he complains. Just as soon as he does, Louis comes over to him with a glint in his eye before proposing his master plan to sneak out past their security and the horde of girls singing What Makes You Beautiful by all the possible entrances. Niall, though, is content with the hooking up the Xbox to his hotel room's television so he can play FIFA with the band, not bothering to tell Louis how rubbish his plan was, though if the expression on Liam's face is any indicator, he doesn't really need to.

And that leaves Harry and Zayn. Not exactly in the mood to humor Louis or strain his eyes following miniature footie players on the TV, Zayn gently knocks at Harry's ankle to catch his attention. "D'you wanna hang back at mine?" he practically mumbles, eyes looking up to meet Harry's green ones, his lashes sharp and vivid against the sunlight that pours into the room.

Harry's gaze drops down to Zayn's mouth, and then he's nodding and going three rooms down the hall. Surprisingly enough, the inside smelled significantly like Zayn now — his cologne, his shampoo, and, obviously, cigarette smoke — and it makes him realize how long they've been in this city. Harry drops himself into the bed, which smells even more like Zayn, but more musk than scent this time. "We haven't gotten to go around the city in _ages_ ," he whines, propping himself up on his elbows so he cam watch Zayn cross the room and put his phone on a dock set up on the dresser.

"Yeah, something like that," Zayn replies with something like a laugh in his voice. "You aren't gonna go join Lou and act like it's the tenth Mission Impossible sequel out there, are you? Paul's not in the best mood."

Zayn looks comfortable as he settles on the bed next to Harry, wearing a shirt and grey sweatpants that are rolled up to his knees. He fusses over the red snapback on his head before tossing it away next to where his phone is. The action seems so graceful that Harry finds himself wondering how Zayn is a real person, even years after he's known him.

He shakes his head, "I reckon we should do something nice for Paul, get him a cake or something." 

They go back and forth mindlessly about cake for a few minutes, and it's while he's talking that Harry realizes that Zayn's been looking at his lips, too. They've been doing that a lot lately, ever since a few weeks ago when Harry slipped on a candy thong on stage and gave the other boy a grin that had a little something more in it. He didn't expect it to end with wanting to run his finger down the sharp of Zayn's cheekbones so he could put it in his mouth, but later on when Harry was pretending his didn't feel his dick twitch inside his jeans, the image of Zayn looking up at him while he was on his knees burned into his mind, he pulled him aside and said, "Nice move there, Malik," to which Zayn replied, lip darting out to lick his bottom lip, "What can I say? I've got a thing for sweets."

Days after that, Harry found himself gravitating towards Zayn ever so often, pressing close against him when he didn't need to and constantly baiting Zayn to put an arm around his shoulders or a hand on his back. But it wasn't like he was alone in it, not with the way Zayn took to crossing the room just to whisper to him, intimate-close like they usually do when they're in a loud room, simple things like, 'What do you want from Taco Bell?' or 'Sick shirt.' Harry's actually lost count of how many times they've almost kissed, the last time being the night before when Zayn had pressed a wet, lingering kiss on his cheek before he went off to bed, and Harry had a little trouble sleeping because it was all he could think about.

"There's nothing wrong with vanilla-flavored anything," Harry insists, feeling a little miffed, even though Zayn's moved on to carding his fingers through his hair, frequently tugging at the strands whenever he was trying to make a point.

Zayn does his little smirk, the one that's clearly smug but manages to stay sweet at the same time. "Sure, I suppose you are what you eat," he says, obviously aware of what he's getting at.

Harry makes an affronted little sound, and he knows that neither of them believe it, but he says it anyway, his dignity turned up to maximum. "I'm _not_ vanilla, I'm — like, I'm rocky road, you know what I mean?" he says, gesturing with his hands to add to the very serious set of his lips, "A lot like the path towards adventure and wilderness."

Pushing his hand deeper into the mess of Harry's hair and scratching at the scalp, Zayn hums. "Mate, you're already a proper freak in the streets, how've you got anything else saved for the sheets?"

"That's just my point, though! Can't be tamed either way." Zayn's brows shoot up at that, and Harry vaguely feels like he's walked in on a trap, only one of many.

"Yeah? Prove it then, what sort of stuff are you into?" Zayn asks, beginning to sit up.

At the sight of a challenge, Harry opens his mouth immediately and says, "Spanking. Bondage stuff. Handcuffs, ropes, whatever's lying around, really." He notices Zayn's eyes, feels the intensity of his gaze and automatically wants more of it, even though he's not entirely sure what he's provoking.

Just as Harry's about to list even more kinky shit that he's never technically tried, but knows he'd be into, Zayn's hand leaves his hair to trail downwards, slowly until it's resting around his neck, his thumb placed on top of Harry's throat. There's barely any pressure, but Harry's breaths thin out anyway. "Do you like being tied up or the other way around?" Zayn asks, voice cool and even. 

The question sends a shiver down his spine, and he closes his eyes and tries to find his voice, but he can't help but concentrate on the way Zayn's thumb is drawing a line down the column of his throat.

"Think it might be the first one," comes Zayn's voice, hovering above Harry's face. His eyes flutter open, and he feels like he's a pinned-up butterfly to the bed, wings spread open and exposed, but that might just be because he's starting to get hard in his pants and the only movement he's interested in making is an upwards roll of his hips. "Is it, Haz?"

It's too late to say no, so Harry nods. He takes a deep breath, finally, but it only makes the presence of Zayn's hand around his neck an even more insistent reality. "Knew it," he hearts Zayn say, and he presses his lips tight together so he won't let himself whimper, feeling warmth spread all over his body. The images of Zayn doing all those things to him come too fast that he squirms a little, giving up completely on not giving himself away.

"How about getting choked?" Zayn asks, and just as he does, the hand he has around Harry begins to bear down ever so slightly. It's still not enough to cut off Harry's breathing, but his eyes close again because it's almost too much.

" _Zayn_ ," he breathes out, but the hand disappears and relocates to fist around the fabric of his shirt. Then Zayn is kissing him, deep and certain enough that it's almost like Harry's about to drown in it until he gathers himself enough to start kissing back. It's only when he finds himself already softly moaning when he feels Zayn hold him hard by his sides as he moves to straddle him that he realizes how worked up he is, hips already jetting up to meet the other's set.

This is it, Harry thinks, this is what all of those weeks' tension is going to pour over for, but after that, he's not really capable of thinking about anything. Zayn's hands are warm and shucking up the shirt he's wearing to press flat against the planes of his chest and roughly palm at his hardened nipples. Harry finishes sucking on Zayn's bottom lip so he can say, "Been wanting to do this all week."

Zayn does his sort-of-laugh again, and it gives Harry enough encouragement to stop him from being so smug, taking Zayn by his hips to make him grind down his cock. They both freeze up for a quick moment to groan when they realize how hard they both are, and Harry would blush except that Zayn's beginning to unzip his trousers so he could work on taking off his own shirt.

It's been days of waiting that Harry doesn't even stop to overthink how he's about to get naked with Zayn, who has him pulled out of his boxers to jerk him off at a pace that's slower than what he prefers, but he's still hoping it'll pick up. And then Zayn says, "You should suck me off."

"You should fuck me," he says back, because he's good at saying what's on his mind just as much as keeping it to himself. After Zayn groans right into his ear, neither of them are wearing clothes anymore and Harry's head is bobbing quick and wet between Zayn's legs.

"Oh shit," he moans when Harry tongues at the slit then around the head before taking him whole in his mouth again. "Fuck, you been with other blokes before?" Harry nods, is mouth full of cock, and it makes Zayn laugh, "'Course you have, like having that pretty mouth ruined, yeah?" 

The words make Harry moan hard around him, and he pulls off and decides it's enough. "Need you to fuck me, wanna feel you," he bites gently at Zayn's hip before making the other stretch over the bed to reach for the bag on the floor so he could rummage through for a bottle of lube and a condom.

Harry doesn't miss the way Zayn looks like he's in awe when he pushes just one digit completely inside of him, and he feels strangely like he's winning even though he's the one wrapped around Zayn's finger. He tightens around the intrusion, sighing loudly. "S'gonna be your cock," he says, more for Zayn than it is for him, as he jerks himself off slowly to relieve some of the tension.

"Gonna need a bit more then." At two fingers, Zayn looks fucking _hungry_ with the way Harry's head is thrown back, feet planted on the bed so he could move his hips and practically fuck himself on Zayn's hand. When Zayn remembers to curl his fingers, Harry gets so loud and bossy that he's kicking at the other boy to hurry up with another finger, but it's only because he hasn't done this in a while.

"Fuck, that's still really tight," Zayn quickly says in an exhale after Harry tells him he's ready, three-fingers deep into Harry and content with pulling himself off to the sight of this, but at the same time aching to proper fucking him. 

"That's the point, want you to fuck me, gonna feel amazing." Harry takes the condom and flings it at Zayn's chest where it clings for a second because of the layer of sweat. He thinks Zayn takes too long fumbling with the condom and the lube, and he opens his mouth to be catty about it, but he moans loud enough to blush instead as Zayn pushes into him with his hands on Harry's thighs.

He bats weakly at Zayn's shoulder and grits through his teeth, "Go fucking slow, you bloody twat." Zayn's almost all the way inside of him, and the stretch stings into something else that makes him shake, the wires in his brain exploding at the ends, and it's almost too overwhelming.

"Sorry, babe." Zayn begins peppering his face with kisses and complies, starting off with short and shallow thrusts once Harry lets him. 

Their breaths grow sharper after every move of his hips, the suddenness of it all filling up the whole room, like they never knew it could feel that way. Once Zayn set up a pace, he can't stop swearing about how fucking beautiful Harry is, who resigns himself to moaning loudly and freely against the pillow under his head. He only vaguely registers Zayn readjust their bodies so that Harry's knees are almost pressed against his chest, but he let's it happen, loose and pliant under Zayn's touch.

The position has Harry whimpering as Zayn pounds his cock into him. "Harder," Harry says, and Zayn follows, fucking into him rougher with each downward stroke. With Zayn practically completely on top of him, Harry feels like he can't escape this, like the pleasure erupting and spilling into his insides was forcing him down against the mattress, leaving him nowhere to go but to stay right where Zayn is inside of him on top of his bed.

"You take it so well, look at you," Zayn says in a throaty groan.

"Need to come, don't stop." Harry feels so close to it, literal inches from the edge, and he thinks he could come without being touched, and he can't remember when he last felt that way, like he's just about to lose his mind over it. 

Doubling the pace, Zayn holds him down by the backs of his thighs even more, and it doesn't take beyond a few more thrusts before Harry's coming, muscles stretching out tight with the intensity of it, along with the drawn out _fuuuuuck_ that makes it out of his mouth. 

Harry's whole body melts into the mattress, and it's only Zayn's sharp, "Oh fuck," that pulls him out of drifting away. He watches with a certain hunger as Zayn rips the condom away and starts pulling himself off with hurried strokes, eyes glazing all over Harry's body. He imagines the mess that he must looks like and feels the heat come to his cheeks.

With one last impatient thrust into his own fist, Zayn lets himself go all over Harry's stomach where he came on himself, too, and _shit_ , Harry can't believe that just happened. By the looks of it, neither can Zayn as he drops himself next to Harry, an arm thrown over his eyes as he tries catches his breath.

"That's one way to spend an afternoon," Harry mutters, dazed but pleased that it draws out a laugh from the person next to him. Zayn smiles at him, genuine and light, and Harry knows that they're fine and not going to be awkward about this. As much as he wants to move to curl up against Zayn, he gestures to the white streaks left on his body. 

"Zayn, look what you've done to me. Get me a wet flannel, would you?"

-

The night before they all meet again in the studio to start writing their fourth album, Harry looks through the notebook he filled up during the Take Me Home tour and copies out the lyrics to a song he wrote during then to his iPad to show everybody else. 

"How's the bridge go again?" Julian asks him over the piano they have set up on.

Harry sings and hums along it, still uncertain with some of the words, but Julian pairs it off with a few keys that has him nodding with approval, "Yeah, like that, sounds good, I think."

"Yeah, it is good, we could really do something with this." They look over the lyrics again, making some changes together, and Harry feels that glow that starts in his chest and extends into his arms and legs, because he knows he's got something good, something that he's been saving for the right album.

Once they have a stronger sense of the melody and the words are penned on a neater piece of paper, Harry suggests, "I think Zayn and I should sing the chorus." He says it with conviction, confident that what he says will go because it's his song, and it isn't like it's a bad idea to have Zayn sing anything anyway.

Julian gives him a long look before shrugging and telling Harry to call him over.

If Harry thinks back to the memory of Zayn fucking him, then he doesn't think it's his fault. He's sure that every single person that Zayn has ever slept with still thinks about it, whether it's in the shower or in the cramped space of their bunks. He had waited for the next time, sure by the look they gave each other before Harry left to go to his own room that it was going to happen again, but it never did. So Harry waited for the wanting to go away instead, to start fraying at the edges until all it was were loose strands that could get lost in the wind, but all he could settle for was to numb it down the ice.

Not that he holds it against Zayn. He easily wraps an arm around the smaller boy, pulling him away from where he's harmonizing with Liam. "Check out this thing I wrote, yeah? I wanna share the chorus," he tells him with a grin, because he is proud of himself and wants Zayn to be, too.

"Alright, let's see." He sounds excited for Harry, too, bringing the snapback he's wearing tighter around his head. "What's it about them?"

 _Baby, look what you've done to me_ , has Zayn catching the way Harry is looking at him over the sheet of paper, and he knows that something is clicking together in place. _Baby, look what you've done now_ , and he watches Zayn's gaze drop down to his lips, and Harry can't believe how much he's missed watching that happen. _Baby, I'll never leave if you keep holding me this way._

Julian sighs, loud and unsurprised. "I'm glad we're all enjoying this, then."

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr and we can have some words/tell me what i should write next: ionlylikezayn  
> four is zarry af


End file.
